


Cold

by Shadow15



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cybersex, Depression, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Prostitution, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: For as long as long as Peter and Yondu had known each other for, Yondu didn't know many of Peter's secrets.  He didn't know about the way Peter was so thin because he was forcibly starved.  He didn't know about the cuts or the bruises that marred Peter's body.  Though he did know of Peter's sleeping around for money, he didn't know of the empty abyss deep in Peter's heart that left him begging for death almost every waking hour of his life.If Yondu had known all that and more, Peter probably would have stood a chance ten years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

The front door closed almost silently behind Peter, but still, he was on edge.  He looked around the foyer nervously, his breath held deep in his throat as he took the first tentative step further into his father’s home - not  _ his  _ home because he could  _ never  _ feel welcomed here.

It looked as if he were in the all clear.  All the lights were off - as expected since it was a little past three am - and the only sounds that could be heard were the crackling of flames the servants kept lit in the multiple fireplaces all night.  

Peter let out a sigh of relief; his dad seemed to be asleep, and with that knowledge, his body relaxed as he climbed the spiraling staircase to get to his bedroom before he was caught wandering around. 

He’d almost made it; as soon as his feet left the staircase and grounded themselves onto the fifth floor of the mansion, his bedroom was all but ten steps away from him.  He’d been foolish to let his guard down, though; as soon as he lifted his right foot, something clipped him painfully around the back of the head and earned a shout of pain.  

“Fucker!” Peter spun around to glare hatefully at his father.  He shoved his hands into his pockets to try and pretend they weren’t bulging for any other reason except them being in there - but of course,  _ Ego  _ wasn’t fucking  _ stupid,  _ and as soon as he turned the hallway lights on and saw the unnatural protrusions, he backhanded his son across the face hard enough to leave blood in his wake.  

“You been out  _ stealing  _ again?” Ego wasn’t yelling.  Hell, there wasn’t even much bite to his tone to have Peter as worked up as he was - but that was the thing; when Ego didn’t come off as threatening, he was  _ pissed _ .  “Pull your hands from your pockets.” 

Peter sneered.  “Fuck you, man! I was out with friends!” 

“Pull them out!” Ego took a few steps closer.  In his haste to back up, Peter almost fell down the staircase as he missed a step down, but he was saved by his back pressing against the railings.  When Peter didn’t obey and instead sneered back defiantly, Ego ripped slightly-trembling hands from out of those pockets himself. He held both wrists together in one hand to keep them there so he could reach in and remove everything hidden inside.  

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” Peter yelled again.  He could feel blood dribbling down his chin, flowing from both his nose and lips, but he didn’t care; all that mattered was the chocolate bars and candy he’d stolen less than an hour ago were now spilling out around his feet, and no matter how badly he wanted them, this was the last he would see of it all.  “I’m  _ hungry,  _ bastard!  How about you  _ feed  _ me once in a while?!” 

“You are old enough to feed yourself, lazy child!” Ego didn’t stop at checking Peter’s front pockets of his jacket; he may as well have been a police officer on a drug bust as he almost  _ strip-searched  _ Peter - and really, the only reason he probably  _ didn’t  _ strip Peter down to his birthday suit was that he found what he was looking for relatively quickly. 

Ego waved the bundle of cash in front of Peter’s face as his tone finally turned deadly.  “I don’t know what you’re doing,  _ son,  _ but if you’re dealing drugs and you ruin  _ my  _ reputation, I -” 

Peter threw his body forward to ram his shoulder into Ego’s chest, but all it accomplished was Ego grabbing him by his shoulder and elbow and  _ twisting _ .  Peter whimpered, and through the pain, he still spat, “I am  _ not  _ dealing drugs, but if it  _ ruins you _ , maybe I  _ might  _ start doing it!” 

Ego twisted harder until a loud pop filled the air and Peter let out an ashamed screech at the dislocation that wasn’t far from putting him in tears.  “You do that, Peter, and I assure you, you will  _ regret  _ it.  I will take you to the doctor to have your shoulder put back into place tomorrow - if you are lucky.  If you keep up this thievery and unruliness, I might just  _ leave  _ it dislocated next time.  Your friends are a bad influence on you, boy.  You would do better without them.” 

Peter whimpered.  He scooped his jacket up from the ground in one arm and glared longingly at the chocolate Ego was picking up from the floor to throw away.  He tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t rumbling from how hungry he was as he reluctantly made his way to his room. 

Peter slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he elbowed the lightswitch on.  He glared hatefully at his mattress that looked so incredibly out of place where it lay in the middle of such a huge,  _ empty  _ room, he wondered every night if squatters felt as inapposite as he did in his own bedroom.  

He sniffed back tears that wouldn’t stop rolling down his cheeks, by now probably a mixture of both physical and mental pain.  His back slid down the door as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He frowned at all the notifications waiting for him; he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to go through them all and make himself feel even worse. 

“Fuck all these fucking guys,” Peter snarled to himself as he skimmed through his messages and ignored anyone who mentioned the word cock, dick, or fuck in their text for any reason.  He travelled past it all until he found the last text he had replied to earlier that night, listed under Yondu Udonta.

_ \- r u still awake-  _  Peter texted.  He wasn’t expecting a reply, really; Yondu had been about to pass out when Peter had left - and really, on the off-chance he  _ was  _ still awake, he was probably screwing his roommate, Kraglin, senseless.  

As expected, no response came.  Peter let out a disheartened sigh as he tried so hard not to focus on his shoulder.  His night had actually been going okay, and he knew he shouldn’t have come home. He’d been with Yondu all night, drinking heavily until Yondu had sent him and Kraglin out to go steal them all food for dinner.  It had likely been a saving grace he’d drank so much and was the only thing taking some of the bite away from the excruciating pain he was sure a dislocated shoulder was supposed to bring but wasn’t quite feeling just yet.

Peter reflected on his night, wanting more than anything to be able to go back to it and actually  _ enjoy  _ himself.  Of course, Peter had obeyed Yondu’s wishes for thievery only too happily, eager to do anything Yondu asked of him if it would earn him the praise and affection he got whenever he’d pleased Yondu.  He supposed that craving for Yondu’s attention was why he’d allowed the man to talk him into getting down on his knees and sucking him off just hours previous, too. Peter had earned affection for his eagerness, but still…

Peter’s heart craved more, more than he could understand what he even  _ needed _ .  

He sighed.  He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, so he may as well make some cash on the side.  He chose one of the texts to respond to at random, letting them know they’d be receiving a new video shortly and to transfer the cash into his PayPal once they’d received it. 

With a heavy sigh, Peter lowered his pants and grasped his flaccid self lightly as he worked on getting his phone into recording mode and hold it in a position it wasn’t going to cause more pain in his shoulder.  

Peter didn’t always hate this.  Some days it chased away the emptiness inside of him and made him feel worth something to know that girls and guys alike at least found enough worth in him to get themselves off to - and honestly, it was better than some of the guys he slept around with in real life who didn’t care how painful it was for him.  

But tonight?  

Tonight was one of those nights where, no matter how many of those videos he made and sent off, it only made him feel more and more hollow inside until he’d become numb to even the excruciating pain in his shoulder.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

“The hell you do to your shoulder, boy?” 

Peter winced at the question.  Self-consciously, he tugged his jacket higher up his neck to try and hide the tape that was strapping his shoulder into place.  He couldn’t make eye contact with Yondu or Kraglin; all he could do was stare at his feet and mumble, “Fell down the stairs…” 

Yondu shrugged.  If he had any care in the world for Peter’s injury, it wasn’t showing.  “Gonna slow you down tonight, or what?” 

Peter shook his head.  “I’m fine…” 

“You don’t sound fine,” Kraglin pointed out.  

“Yeah, and ya stink of sex,” Yondu growled.  “Get in the shower. How much you make tonight?” 

“Six-hundred…” Peter was glum, and it showed in his withdrawn body language as he turned around and stumbled to the bathroom down the hall.  

Yondu’s eyes glinted as he called out after Peter.  “I’ll let ya keep it tonight if you play with Kraglin for a bit, boy.  Sound good?”

Peter hummed, but he didn’t otherwise respond. His sigh could be heard as he made his way down the hall, but whatever hope he’d had that Yondu would forget the topic when he got out of the shower and returned had been for naught, because almost immediately after he’d stepped back into the living room, Yondu was asking questions again. 

“Were you with a girl or boy, Quill?” There was an impatient tone to Yondu’s voice, and Peter knew better than to leave him hanging. 

“Girl…” Peter mumbled. He dropped himself onto the couch next to Yondu, noticing that the TV was playing, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to it.  

“You enjoy yourself with her, boy.” It was no longer a question as Yondu’s hands clenched by his side and his tone was full of bite. 

Peter nodded.  “She was… good…”

“With her mouth?” A possessive growl left Yondu’s lips as he received a nod in response.  He patted his knees to invite (demand was a more appropriate word when it came to Yondu) Peter to kneel between his legs. He waited until Peter had obeyed before he reached out to cup Peter’s face and give him a hard look. “You gonna let me see how good you are with your pretty little mouth again, boy?” 

Peter nodded. His heart was fluttering in his chest at the attention Yondu was giving him, but before he could reply, fingertips dug into his cheek so deeply, he felt the nails cutting into him. “Yondu, what -“

“What is this.” Yondu was ready to commit murder as his finger jabbed painfully into Peter’s collarbone.  Peter  _ wisely  _ backed away a bit, avoiding all eye contact. 

“What…?” Peter mumbled.

“You’ve been  _ hit,  _ boy?!” Yondu was almost roared. “Who has hit you?!  We’ll go fix them up for puttin’ a hand on ya!”

“Yondu, stop; it doesn’t matter!” Peter almost cried.  So desperately he wanted Yondu’s approval back on him; not this violent rage that was liable to get him hurt as well.  He reached out to take Yondu’s hands and squeeze them, but all it earned him was a shove. “Who cares?! It’s probably from when I fell down the stairs!” 

“Bullshit, boy; that’s a hand mark!” Yondu snarled.  “Who been hittin’ ya?! You don’t need to protect them!”

“Yondu, please!” Peter wasn’t used to begging.  He was used to getting worked up and letting his anger control him - but with Yondu, it was different.  He didn’t want Yondu to hate him. All he wanted was the man to accept him. 

Yondu wasn’t convinced.  “Boy, someone hits ya and I’m gonna  _ kill  _ them!” 

“ _ No one hit me _ !” Peter  _ hated  _ yelling at Yondu, but what could he do?  He was getting stressed, and he’d always had a short temper - he couldn’t fucking  _ help  _ it!  

A slap resounded through the living room. Kraglin turned away, knowing what was coming. 

Sure enough, Yondu’s shout threatened to deafen everyone.  “You yellin’ at  _ me _ , boy?!  After ev’ryt’ing I done for ya?! Who’s the one who damn  _ feeds  _ you, boy?! Gives ya what you need?!” 

Peter fell silent now. He clasped tightly the knees of his jeans as he looked at his lap in disgrace; Yondu was right; he  _ was  _ being a pathetic brat…. “...Sorry, Yondu…”

Peter’s whisper wasn’t enough for Yondu. Yondu still grabbed him by the back of his jacket and dragged him over to Kraglin.  “I might consider forgivin’ ya if you put on a pretty show for me.” 

Peter scrambled to obey. His hands shook with the need to prove himself to Yondu, so it wasn’t easy to unbutton Kraglin’s pants and pull them down.  

Kraglin let out a hiss as he was exposed to the cold air. He put his hand on the back of Peter’s head and tangled his fingers into soft brown hair still wet from the shower.  He gave a hum of approval when he felt hot breath billow against him. “That’s right, Quill…”

There was no hesitation in Peter’s actions - not when he could turn his eyes to the side and see just how damn  _ pleased  _ Yondu was to be watching.  He hummed quietly in response, his eyes slipping closed as his body relaxed at knowing he was doing a good enough job for Yondu’s tastes.

Kraglin’s hand never left Peter’s hair.  His eyes closed as well as he spread his legs further and slid his back down the couch, but it was all he could accomplishment - that, and breathy little moans as he felt his orgasm approaching.  “Pete… S-shit…” 

Kraglin wasn’t the only one who was hard.  Yondu was unashamedly stroking himself as he watched, and Peter couldn’t help but fondle himself at the knowledge; as shitty as he was feeling emotionally, having Yondu so damned  _ approving  _ of him had him stiff and desperate for the man’s touch.  

And of course, what Peter desired  _ did  _ come - just not in the  _ most preferred _ manner Peter always fantasised about.  Yondu was quick to make his way to Kraglin’s side, and with just one clap to the man’s shoulder, Kraglin was pulling out of Peter’s mouth so Yondu could take his place. 

Peter groaned at the larger intrusion.  Saliva dribbled past his lips and down his chin as his eyes watered, having always had trouble taking in all of Yondu.  It was hard to breathe, but Yondu wasn’t a  _ complete  _ asshole who didn’t care; he stayed still for a few moments to allow Peter to adjust properly.  

“That’s it, boy…” Yondu didn’t hold Peter’s head the way Kraglin did.  His painful grip in Peter’s hair was almost aggressive as he kept his lover still so he could thrust harshly.  “That’s it… Take it all…” 

Peter moaned again as he slipped his hand in past the hem of his waistband to grip himself properly now.  His strokes were quick as he savoured the moment; Yondu didn’t often like to touch Peter himself and usually made Kraglin do it, so whenever things like this occurred, Peter embraced them.  

Kraglin was the first to come.  He angled himself directly into Peter’s face as he released, spurting all over the pale flesh.  Yondu came with a groan as well, deep into Peter’s throat where it was swallowed obediently. 

But  _ Peter  _ didn’t come - or rather, he  _ couldn’t  _ come.  He suspected it was his flat emotional state; it wasn’t unusual for him to encounter problems orgasming, but usually they were when he was alone in his bedroom, trying to get himself off.  

He didn’t think too much on it, though; Yondu had already gotten to his feet and tucked himself back into his pants.

“Boy, I expect you and Kraglin to be comin’ back with as much money as you both can hustle,” Yondu ordered.  With that, he’d disappeared down the hallway and out of sight.

Kraglin had already caught his breath and cleaned himself up.  His eyes flickered down to Peter’s prominent arousal before he made eye contact again.  “Pete, clean yourself up; you got cum in your hair.” 

Peter nodded.  He excused himself to the bathroom where he washed up  _ again _ , and with that, he left the house with Kraglin.  

* * *

 

“See you next time, baby~”

Peter tried to smile, but it was hard to do so when all he felt was disgust. Not so much towards the woman whose legs his face had been between not even a minute ago, but rather towards himself. 

Peter wasn’t used to feeling this level of self-loathing.  He’d always been a sexual creature, and that had been what had drawn Yondu to him in the first place; Yondu knew Peter was invaluable for the fact that he was willing to sleep with anything he could - not only did it make Yondu a lot of money, but Peter never protested when Yondu was in the mood to use him, too. 

But lately, Peter’s emotions had been all over the place, and he felt  _ miserable.  _

“Pete, c’mon!” 

Peter looked at the bathroom doorway when Kraglin’s urgent hiss caught his attention. He stood up and smoothed his clothing out. 

“Hurry up!” Kraglin looked over his shoulder before he turned back to Peter and gave a more urgent hiss. “Security’s comin’!”

Peter didn’t hesitate to flee at that. He and Kraglin hurried as fast, as subtly as they could manage through the nightclub until they were standing out on the cold streets. 

Kraglin’s cold, almost  _ dead  _ eyes stared Peter down. Peter couldn’t help but feel as if he’d been accused of something. “How much she give you, Quill?” 

“Two-hundred…” Peter sighed.  It wasn’t enough; Yondu would take it all from him and leave him with no share - it was why he tried his hardest to put his prices up as high as the customers were willing to pay for him. 

Kraglin smirked.  “That’s too bad; made a thousand from stealin’ some guy’s wallet.” 

Peter sneered.  They started walking now, but it did nothing for Peter’s mood.  “I need the money, Krag…” 

Kraglin hummed in response.  “Drugs?” 

“No!” Peter snapped.  “...Well… A little… But mostly my prick of a dad…” 

Kraglin shrugged.  “If you hate him so much, why you still livin’ with him?” 

“Because the last time I tried taking off, he found me and broke almost every bone in my leg,” Peter snarled. 

“What’s the money for, then?” 

“To get as far away from the bastard as possible!  I’m twenty-six and yet he -!” Peter cut himself off; Kraglin wouldn’t care about his problems, so why was he bothering to explain?

“You told Yondu?” Kraglin enquired. 

Peter snorted. “And have him flip out?  You saw how he was, Krag! All because of a bruise!” 

“He don’t like his property damaged; ‘course he’s mad,” Kraglin defended. It was what Peter had always hated about the man; always quick to jump on Yondu’s dick and ride it, even if it meant having to suck up to him behind his back. 

Peter didn’t deny being Yondu’s property. In fact, he didn’t deny  _ anything _ because all he wanted in that moment was to walk out in traffic. He checked his watch; three-fifty-nine; unlikely he’d find a truck to run in front of. 

“Shit, I gotta get home before that asshole finds me gone again…” Peter chewed at his lip. 

“Yondu will be pissed if you don’t come back with his money,” Kraglin pointed out.  

Peter shrugged. “Tell him I’ll bring it around tomorrow while dad’s at work.” 

“He ain’t gonna like that, Petey,” Kraglin warned.  “He’ll think you’ve stolen his money.” 

“You know how much I got tonight; just tell him tomorrow when it give it to him that it’s all there.” Peter turned around and walked away.  “See you tomorrow, Krag; am I still good to stay the day?” 

“Should be.  Bye, Pete.” 

Peter made his way along the lonely streets.  He was in no hurry, and by the time he finally got from one end of town to the other, the sun was starting to rise.  It had lit the sky up with a vibrant orange glow when he’d unlocked the front door to his house, but he should have known better than to think Ego would sleep in late for once and let him get upstairs undisturbed. 

“Peter!” 

Peter stopped at the top of the staircase. He gave a sigh, not wanting to deal with Ego, but knowing there was no point in delaying it; Ego was pissed, and it would only make him angrier to ignore him.  

Reluctantly, Peter stepped in to Ego’s master bedroom. He bristled at just his furnished - how  _ lived in -  _ the room was compared to his blank slate that had always been so fucking  _ unwelcoming _ . 

Peter’s glare burned with hatred as he found Ego, comfortable and  _ flaunting  _ in his king-sized bed.  “ _ What.” _

Ego leaned across to grab something off his bedside drawers - something Peter recognised all too well.  He waved the baggy in the air as he snarled, “What is this.”

Peter knew he was fucked, but still, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  “What’s it fucking look like, dumbass!” 

Ego almost jumped off his bed in rage. “You dare speak to me like that?! When I am only  _ concerned  _ about you?!”

“Your only concern is whether or not it’ll ruin you for people to know your son does drugs!” Peter roared back. “Fuck you, man!  I hate you so much!” 

“Your  _ mother  _ resented you!” Ego shouted. He didn’t miss the way Peter couldn’t stop the agony crossing his face. “She hated you so much, she  _ abandoned _ you!  Where would you have been if it wasn’t for me, Peter?!  Twenty-six years I have fed you and clothed you and kept a roof over your head!  You ungrateful little shit! No wonder your mother left you! No wonder you cannot make any  _ friends!” _

_ “ _ I  _ have  _ friends!” Peter screamed.  “Fuck you!” 

“What, the same two friends you’ve had for the past ten years?!  The same two friends who have never failed to get you into trouble with the police?!  Your mother did herself a  _ service  _ leaving your pathetic ass behind!” 

Peter felt all fight leave him at those words. He battled back a sob as he turned and left.  His mother had always been a sensitive point for him, and Ego knew exactly how to exploit it.  

“Fuck you, man…” Peter sobbed to himself as he slammed Ego’s door shut behind him and hightailed it to his own room.  “Fuck you…” 

Peter shut and locked his own bedroom door so he could curl up on his flimsy mattress and pull his small blade out from beneath it. He rolled his sleeves up so he could add to the collection of scars - old, new, and healing. 

Peter was depressed. He’d known that for a long time, but he hated acknowledging it. Then came the moments like these ones, where all he wanted was to die, but was too cowardly to try and do so. 

Peter sobbed himself to sleep.  He did nothing to try and stop the blood flowing down his arms; he just curled up on his mattress and hoped that, with a bit of luck, his wrists would bleed him dry as he slept. 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter never looked away from the roof as his bedroom door opened; he just laid on his mattress, his arms folded behind his head as he counted down the seconds until he could escape again.  

Ego, who stood in the doorway, looked relaxed - but with Peter ignoring him, his expression turned dark.  His tone was just as resentful as ever as he snarled, “I will be having dinner guests tonight, and if they hear  _ one sound  _ from you, boy, you are  _ dead _ .” 

Peter snorted.  He rolled onto his side to glare back at his father, not caring that in doing so, his wrists caked in dried blood were visible.  “I’d  _ hate  _ for people to know I actually exist,  _ dad _ .” 

“I mean it,” Ego snarled.  “You are nothing but burdensome filth, and I wish every day your mother would have  _ swallowed  _ you.” 

Peter sniffed as he rolled onto his other side to turn his back to Ego.  “Fuck you, asshole; I wish she had, too - then I wouldn’t have ever had to see  _ your  _ disgusting face.” 

“The disgust your stomach churns in at seeing my face is  _ nothing  _ compared to the way mine  _ somersaults  _ at knowing you  _ exist _ ,” Ego spat back.  “I could only  _ dream  _ that it was  _ you  _ I had lost rather than your  _ mother _ !  What I wouldn’t give for  _ you  _ to walk out in front of a bus!  Your mother might come back if you do!” 

“I’d rather go live with my mother than stay here!” Peter screamed.  “Fuck you and your money! I want my  _ mother _ !” 

“And  _ she  _ doesn’t want  _ you _ !  That’s why she  _ left  _ you!   _ No one  _ wants you, Peter!   _ No one _ !” 

Peter felt sick to his gut.  There was probably truth to those words, but he didn’t want to believe it; holding on to the hope that his mother would one day come back for him was what kept him going.  He said nothing as Ego left; he stayed on his mattress for what had surely been hours as the sun went down and his bedroom filled with darkness, but he didn’t get up to turn the lights on; he didn’t have the energy to do so. 

But then, to Peter’s complete unexpectancy, his bedroom door opened again somewhere near midnight, and Ego stood in the doorway.  Ego switched the lights on and gestured to Peter. Calmly, he spoke. “Come with me.” 

Peter hesitated, but he knew from experience it was best to do as he was told lest he just put himself through even more.  He got up and followed Ego, out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and to one of the many living areas on the ground floor lit by the raging flames of the fireplace.  

“Take a seat.” Ego gestured to the couch.  Peter couldn’t help but wince as he realised what was coming, but still, he obeyed. 

Ego sat next to Peter.  Silence hung in the air as the man’s eyes followed the bounce of the flames.  Peter sighed boredly. “Can I go back upstairs now…?” 

Ego didn’t look at Peter as he extended his arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him close; he just held on tight as he murmured, “I love you, son.  I love you so much. Your mother loves you, too - she just… She’s  _ sick _ .  Like  _ you  _ are.  But I love you, and you’re my son, Peter.” 

Peter felt tears sliding down his cheeks as the agonised confusion swum through his stomach and heart.  This was something that happened often between the two of them; Ego would put Peter’s mind through hell - and then, just when Peter didn’t think he could take any more, he’d come out and say stuff like  _ this _ .  ...Why couldn’t Peter just  _ die? _  “Why do you always  _ do  _ this to me?!  I  _ hate  _ you!” 

“And that’s okay, Peter.  Sometimes things don’t always go the way we want them to.” The distant, almost  _ dreamy  _ tone in Ego’s voice was alarming, but Peter was in too much pain to really take notice of how  _ out of it  _ Ego seemed.  “It’s just… Sometimes we have to do things ourselves how  _ we  _ want them done.” 

“Stop doing this to me!” Peter screamed.   He shoved at Ego hatefully as he tried to get to his feet.  “You tell me how fucking much you  _ loathe  _ me, and then you always pull  _ this shit  _ on me!   _ I hate you _ !” 

Ego barely reacted, even as Peter ran from the living room and to the front door; he stayed, staring at the flames as his thoughts raced and Peter fled - for the best, but Peter didn’t know that.  

* * *

 

It was Kraglin who answered the door at Peter’s frenzied poundings.  He looked tired, like he’d been fast asleep and dreaming at Peter’s arrival.  He gave a quick yawn as he stepped back to allow Peter into the house.

“Petey, what are ya doin’...?” Kraglin shut the door behind Peter.  His voice was heavy from exhaustion, but still, he murmured again. “Yondu ain’t home…” 

Peter didn’t respond.  His eyes were wide and he jittered around the place.  He paced back and forth, clawing at his wrists as he mumbled to himself.  Kraglin didn’t have to watch for long before he realised Peter was high on something. 

“Petey?” Kraglin reached out to touch Peter’s shoulder, but all it did was cause him to jolt and pull away from the touch.  “Pete, what have ya taken…?” 

Kraglin couldn’t understand what Peter was mumbling. He was worried; while he was no stranger to Peter on something heavy, he’d never seen him like  _ this  _ before. He did the only thing he could think of doing and took Peter’s hand, dragging him to the living room and laying him on the couch.  

“I’ll be back, Petey; just grabbin’ ya a blanket,” Kraglin whispered.  He did as promised, and when he returned and tucked Peter in tight, he still didn’t leave; he sat on the couch next to his friend, patting Peter’s hair as he texted Yondu and told him to come home.  

Peter couldn’t fall asleep.  No matter how hard Kraglin tried to get him into sleep, he only stayed awake, muttering to himself.  

Yondu came home, and what he found infuriated him.  Blood, stained all over Peter’s wrists and clothing.  Self-inflicted cut upon cut beneath all that blood that had been done only hours ago.  

But the worst thing was when he stripped Peter of his shirt and found the massive bruising all over his torso that could not have come from anything but a serious incident. 

“He’s walked out in front o’ a car,” Yondu snarled to Kraglin.  “Fuckin’ idiot prob’ly broke his damn body. Get Aleta out here, Krag; we ain’t takin’ him to no damn hospital while he’s high.” 

Kraglin did as he was told, calling for help to arrive while Yondu sat and pulled Peter into his lap.  

“Yer a damn idiot, boy,” Yondu scolded.  He ignored the way Peter stared up into his face, as if Yondu was the only thing keeping him grounded.  “Runnin’ around like that - what have I told ya ‘bout doin’ that shit, Quill?” 

Peter never responded to Yondu; he only laid there and stared, barely aware of the newcomers to the house who’d laid him straight and wrapped his cracked ribs before assessing the damage to his stomach.  

Peter didn’t really feel the pain; the drugs had numbed his nerve receptors, but that was probably a good thing, not feeling the pain of his injuries.  There was a downfall to that, though; when Peter had been treated and Yondu had  _ finally  _ gotten him to sleep, he sure felt the pain come the next morning. 

* * *

 

“Pete, you feelin’ okay?” Kraglin had taken to spending the day with Peter, feeding him and making sure he was okay.  Yondu had told him to, Peter suspected, but he didn’t ask; he just laid on the couch and whined pathetically at the pain his body was in.  

“M’fine…” Peter winced at how much it hurt to breathe.  He whimpered softly, accepting the hand that patted his head comfortingly.  “Where’s Yondu…?” 

“Out.” Kraglin said no more and no less about it.  “Now hurry up an’ take your damn painkillers.” 

Peter didn’t protest the pills Kraglin shoved down his throat.  He hoped they would kick in soon and do something about his headache, but in the meantime…  “Hey, can you drive me home, Krag?” 

Kraglin raised his eyebrow.  “Why? Yondu told me to keep ya here with me.” 

“Because my dad is gonna come looking for me, and if he can’t find me, he’s gonna kill me when I get home,” Peter muttered.  “I wasn’t supposed to have left the house last night, and now it’s almost dinnertime, and he… He’s gonna be  _ pissed _ .” 

“Who cares ‘bout him, Pete; he’s an asshole anyway.  Just stay here and do what Yondu says. He’ll be home soon.” Kraglin wasn’t in the mood for arguing, so he got up and left the living room.  

Kraglin was right, though; Yondu did come back not long after - except, when he did, no matter how excited Peter was to see him, Yondu bypassed the living room and went straight to his bedroom to find Kraglin.

Peter couldn’t help but feel hurt.  He had so much love for Yondu in his heart, yet the man just…  

Sometimes Peter  wondered if Yondu liked him at all. 

But whatever pain Peter had been in quickly went to the back of his mind when he heard Yondu shouting at Kraglin.  He couldn’t decipher what exactly Yondu was yelling about, but Kraglin seemed to be meek about it as Peter couldn’t hear his voice at all.  

What caught Peter by surprise was the loud bang and crash that came from their direction, followed by a yelp from Kraglin.  Peter’s body tensed. Yondu was still yelling, not stopping until the bedroom door slammed and his heavy footsteps approached the living room.  

Peter swallowed past the thick lump in his throat.  He averted his gaze when Yondu appeared before him, not knowing if he should draw any attention onto himself - but no matter how much he doubted in this moment, Yondu still looked at him anyway. 

“What are  _ you  _ lookin’ at?” Yondu growled.  

Peter looked away again.  “Nothin’...” 

Yondu sniffed.  His tone softened slightly.  “Ya heard all that with Krag, did ya?  Don’t worry ‘bout it, boy; ya ain’t in trouble.” 

“Well, what did Krag do?” Peter knew he should keep his nose out of it - knew he should do anything but piss Yondu off.  ...But let’s face it; Peter never had been good at doing what was best for him. 

“Ah, he’s damn been a shithead.” Yondu waved his hand dismissively.  “Don’t worry ‘bout him; ya can sleep in my bed tonight and he can have the couch.” 

Peter winced.  Those words rubbed him so _wrong_ …  “But _Kraglin_ is your boyfriend…” 

Yondu gave an uncaring shrug.  “He misbehaved. Ya don’t wanna fuck?” 

“No, I do,” Peter said, a little  _ too  _ quickly.  “...But I…  Krag is my friend, and I…” 

“Yeah, an’ Kraglin’s my  _ partner,  _ and I still make him fuck around.  What’s yer point, boy?” 

Peter shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it…” 

Yondu chuckled.  “Ah, ya don’t wanna get in between us, do ya?  Well, don’t worry ‘bout that, Quill; I could do anythin’ to Krag an’ he ain’t gonna leave.” 

“That’s not right!” Peter cried.  “You’re supposed to  _ love  _ Kraglin!  Not want to hurt him!” 

“Eh, he likes it when I treat ‘im rough,” Yondu dismissed again.  “Some sorta masochist, he is.” 

Peter sighed.  “Yondu… I don’t like that.  I don’t want to be dragged into anything between you two -  _ please,  _ just…  Just leave me out of it, okay?” 

Yondu grumbled something under his breath.  His eyes flickered over Peter’s body before he licked his lips.  “Hey, ya think yer too sore for me ta fuck now?” 

Peter closed his eyes and threw his head back dramatically.  “Yondu…! I got hit by a  _ car _ !  What do you  _ think _ ?!”

“Lucky ya did or else I’d have made ya get on yer knees for me if it were anythin’ else,” Yondu promised.  He muttered again under his breath before he turned to leave, leaving Peter on his own. He’d disappeared into the kitchen before he called out, “But ya gonna let me fuck ya tomorrow, right, boy?” 

Peter sighed.  He groaned at the pain in his body, wishing so badly he could say yes, but between his pain and his father, he wasn’t even sure he was going to  _ live  _ to see tomorrow.  


End file.
